


Yowl

by Shoulder_Devil



Series: Meow Mix [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crack?, Gen, Michael is basically a cat tree, Mild Blood, Other, an unnerving amount of cats, it got a bit dark there, kitty!, lots of them - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 22:32:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13797717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shoulder_Devil/pseuds/Shoulder_Devil
Summary: A Wanderer has found his way into Michael's corridors and makes an unlikely friend. They all have a bit of a laugh.





	Yowl

**Author's Note:**

> Made for the Piles of Nonsense Pairing Week free day  
> Hey look! I got one done on the actual day this time!

Days have passed in this place, hadn’t they? It has to have been days. That’s good right? If it has been days then this will all be over soon, dehydration will take him (he should be thirsty, why wasn’t he thirsty) and this nightmare will end.

Endless corridors stretch before and behind. He’d tried walking, he’d tried running, he had even tried prying the mind-bending artwork from the wall, nothing worked. He had been face down on the thick, black rug trying and failing to sleep for a while now. He is deeply exhausted, drained in every possible way, yet he is not _actually_ tired and cannot sleep.

A noise catches in his ears and he brings his head up to seek its source. It isn’t a sound he’s ever heard before. A howling wail that pulses around him and pushes from behind his eyes, but underneath he catches something familiar but just out of reach. Like a sample from a beloved yet half remembered song warped, twisted, and used as the base for some horrific new pop song.

Looking around he sees that the artwork on the walls has changed. What used to be contorted interpretations of the hallway that trapped him, now displayed images of sinister creatures. No-  of the same creature viewed from impossible angles. Tangles of harsh limbs ending in sharp points surround him on all sides.

The cry comes again and he feels more than hears himself join its horrid song. Climbing to his feet, he casts about for a weapon though he knows he will find none. The portraits have shifted, bright eyes and needle teeth with no sense of scale or proportion.

He runs.

Sometimes he takes one of the branches, other times he does not. Eruptions of the deep yet uncomfortably high wail assail his senses, seemingly at random. Nearly deafening but sometimes merely a whisper, yet always seeming to come from right next to him. Paintings flash by as he runs. An arched back, pointed ears, soft fur… wait, are those whiskers?

He stops, breath ragged in front of a painting splashed with orange and white, delicate whiskers, and looking closer, a small pink nose.

“What?”

Of all his torments, this is the strangest. His brain grasps at possibilities but comes up blank. Transfixed, he can’t look away from what must be a depiction of a calico kitten as painted by M.C. Escher on a diet consisting only of acid, mushrooms, and ecstasy. Something brushes against his leg and he screams.

Jumping back he sees what must be the subject of the painting, now lolled on the floor before him. She (most calicoes are female something to do with the genetics of the coloring) regards him with bright blue eyes.

The terrible yowling comes again and the tiny thing unconcerned, mews in response. _That_ was the sound under the madness he couldn't place. Now that he sees the kitten before him he recognizes the notes of angry caterwauling pulled to eldritch proportions.

The kitten bounds up to him and rubs against his leg. “Well, if I’m going to die here, I might as well pet a cat first.” He extends his hand, fingers curled inward, to the adorable little furball. She awkwardly bumps her nose against his hand as she sniffs at him. He laughs and scratches her behind the ears.

He sits against the wall and the tiny cat climbs into his lap. She playfully attacks his hand now and then, but for the most part is content to receive his affection.

“Meeeew!”

“Yes, mew.” He nodded indulgently to the warm ball of fluff. “You really are adorable aren’t you?”

“Yes… she is.” The voice comes from nowhere and everywhere vibrating with the same energy as the yowls that had tormented him. He startles and nearly throws the kitten in shock before wrapping himself protectively around the small creature.

A tall man stands before him, curly golden hair framing a predatory grin. His lanky limbs end in hands too long and large for his frame. The individual pieces of him seem normal at first but in the process of assembling the whole, everything went very _wrong._ A jet black kitten with bright gold eyes abruptly pokes its head from beneath yellow tresses.

He isn’t sure what is most disconcerting about this man-shaped thing looming over him. The assemblage of limbs that simultaneously bend in too many places while giving the impression of normal knees and elbows, is nauseating to look at. However, the longer he looks the more cats he sees perched in various locations. They appear like looking at one of those magic eye pictures that were so popular in the 90s. Visual noise and then suddenly, cats.

Cats everywhere.

They are in the hallway, hundreds of them. All shapes, sizes, and colors; the only consistency he can discern is that many of them have notched ears. Whatever this thing is, it seems to have dominion over a huge colony of feral cats.

He stares dumbly at the hand it extends, palm up, in his direction. It cocks its head and wiggles wickedly sharp fingers in anticipation. “Weeeeellllll?”

He works his mouth around a variety of failed words before settling on a breathless, “What?”

“The small one, give her back.” It pushes the hand closer, tips of fingers dangerously close to his face. “I appreciate you locating the lost one, Wanderer. The one that birthed her has been inconsolable.” Again, the terrible mockery of a meow split the air, the delicate mew from the kitten following quickly behind. “Ahhh… reunited at last!” It claps its hands as a black and orange tortie purposefully strides towards him.

The mother cat stops just out of reach and hisses. “You really shouldn’t get between a mother and her child, you know.” The words sound innocent but the threat razor sharp.

He gingerly places the kitten on the carpet next to him and begins to back away slowly. The calico happily tottles off toward her mother letting out another high pitched mew. Mama cat snags the wayward kitten in her mouth and disappears back into the feline hoard.

The distorted man watches her go and mimes wiping a tear from his- its eye. “What a _touching_ display!” It cocked its head back to him, its gaze freezing him in place. “Tell me… can you…? Oh what was it the Archivist used?” It tapped a finger on its chin in thought, “Oh yes, purr! Can you purr, Wanderer?”

He sees its chest begin to shake as a deep, rumbling _screech_ erupts from the blond haired monster. He winces in pain and feels wetness in his ears. The cats surrounding him are all purring now, encouraged by their unlikely leader. He has never heard the sound come across a _predatory_ before but, there it is. More and more of the feral animals find purchase on the thing before him, lips pulled back to reveal needle sharp teeth mirroring those of their master.

He swallows to wet his tongue and proceeds with his best Eartha Kitt impression. The hungry smile on its face twists to angry disappointment and he cuts himself short. The thing’s hand is on his chest now, pinning him to the wall. He draws in a breath to scream but it catches in his throat and no sound escapes him.

“No, not like that.” it chides, “like _this._ ”

The hand on his chest rattles in time with the creature’s vocalizations. He feels the jackhammer pressure start to crack and splinter his ribs. The scream of pain that tears itself from his shaking chest is not entirely unlike the chaos already in his ears.

“Better,” its disappointment is tinged with faint praise, “but it would seem Wanderers were not built for this. A pity.”

The pressure increases then releases. He collapses face first on the floor, coughing up blood, each shaking breath pulling spikes of pain through his damaged chest. Several cats stalk closer, very aware of the potential for wounded prey.

Turning to face his captor he sees it has entirely discarded its pretense of humanity. It towers over him a mess of incomprehensible limbs. Despite the shift in its geography, several cats continued to lounge, unconcerned along its… shoulders? Arms? Where does the lap go when you stand?

It’s all more than a bit much; days trapped in spiraling hallways with no end, crushing despair, blond haired walking body horror, and just… all the cats. He goes a bit funny, his conscious mind finally passing a point beyond which comprehension ceases and madness begins. He laughs, giggles really. The giggling becomes coughing that should be painful but somehow isn’t. He takes the lack of pain as a gift as frenzied glee continues to spill from his bloody mouth.

The thing in front of him looks pleased now. He is pleased too. Everything is so wrong that it has gone all the way ‘round to right again. His vision blurs but other senses sharpen. Over the rumbling screech that is the distorted man’s purr, (or maybe under it? Both?) he hears the cats approach. He hears the tongues lap at his spilled blood. He feels them clamoring for position in his lap. He pets their soft fur as they claw their way up his shoulders to to lick the tears from his face.

He laughs as he is buried under a multitude of soft, warm, sharp weights. Their needle teeth tickle at his flesh as he is devoured. Everything is as it should be. There is no pain, only crazed joy.

Through it all, Michael _purrs_.

 

 

Sometimes there is a door that does not belong. It is tucked away in a corner, or perhaps centered along a wall. The door is yellow with a matte black handle and a cat flap cut into the bottom.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure if Michael has adopted a colony of feral cats or if they adopted Michael.  
> Both?  
> Probably both.


End file.
